


Gingerbread House

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: 25 days of ficmas [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Baking Shenanigans, Christmas baking, F/M, Soft Kisses, festive fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 02:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: The reader stays at the Compound for Christmas and Loki keeps them company, revealing a surprising talent for baking.





	Gingerbread House

Your hands trembled as you iced the biscuit trees. The sharp smell of the green mint icing was so overwhelming that it almost made you feel dizzy but it would, without a doubt, be worth it for the flavour. Brandishing your toothpick to dot on the tiny details, you released a sigh of relief and balanced the finished trees around your gingerbread house.

It was a masterpiece, if you did say so yourself.

Dancing around the island, shaking your hips to the infectious beat, you grabbed icing sugar and a sieve to add a final dusting of ‘snow’ over your fabulous scene. All but shouting the chorus, you twirled so dramatically that you nearly tripped over your own feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself at the last second and avoided crashing into the gingerbread house.

However your fabulous creation was not safe for long.

A movement in the far corner of your eye had you so startled that you dropped the sieve directly on the house. The precariously balanced roof cracked into three separately pieces. The wet icing which had been holding the biscuits together slipped out of place and the entire house came crashing down. That in turn sent the trees flying like minty dominoes, smudging all of your hard work.

Where moments before it had looked a tranquil wonderland, the scene now looked more like the setting for a terrifying festive horror film where the snowmen eat people and the friendly local reindeer smashes in the head of an unsuspecting passerby.

You wiped the icing sugar off your hands, leaving giant white handprints on your trousers. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, though - not when you were already covered in flour and egg and certainly not now that your masterpiece had been destroyed. Turning to face the intruder, you asked, “Loki! What are you doing here? I thought that everyone had gone home for the week.”

“Well, seeing how my actual home was destroyed by my sister and how I have struggled somewhat to find a place within New Asgard, here on Midgard, this miserable Compound basically is my home.” Loki’s words sounded bitter but there was really nothing else in his voice other than tiredness and apathy.

It had been a hard few years as everyone dealt with the aftermath of the Infinity Stones - what with the deaths and resurrections and alternate timelines that were far too complicated to wrap your head around. Some people employed the strategy of pretending that everything was okay until they fooled themselves into believing it. Others, like Loki, had basically just given up fighting and took everything as it came. You were all too tired of the universe throwing shit at you to really be angry with it anymore.

Loki leant casually against the doorframe, but his gaze was as alert as ever. Even though there was no one else around, he couldn’t help but be a little paranoid. “Speaking of homes, why are you here, my dear? Do you not have family with whom you’d rather spend your holidays.”

“Oh, no,” you said, wiping the surface down and focusing on the tidying to avoid his gaze. “I love my family but Christmas with them is impossible. They don’t really believe in it anyway, so it’s always a downer, but also… They aren’t all that happy with the life I live here. Whenever I go home, they always try to convince me that I should give this up.”

Suddenly by your side, Loki reached out and caught your wrist. Gently but firmly, he pulled you away from the carnage. He held your hands against his chest, so close that you could feel the uneven rise and fall of his breathing. You could hardly breathe from the weight of the air around you, the electricity passing between you impossible to ignore.

There was a danger in his eyes, intense and primal, but it was softened immeasurably by something you couldn’t identify. Affection, perhaps, for you - or so you hoped. Part of your brain was screaming for you to run away and hide, the other part daring you to make a move. And, oh, how you wanted to reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair. To feel his grip on your waist as you pulled his mouth down to yours for a bruising kiss.

Beneath that gaze, though, you froze. Your mind stalled and you simply stared up at the god waiting for something to happen. For him to make the first move and take what he wanted - what you were more than willing to offer. But, he did not. Loki released his grip and tugged the wet rag from your hands, kicked a chair out from beneath the island and sat you down on it as if the moment had never happened.

Much to your surprise, he began cleaning the mess himself, moving effortlessly as always. His hair hung loose today and covered his face, hiding his ever thoughtful expression. “You enjoy your life here?”

It was a question, of that you were sure, but it sounded more like a statement. Still, you nodded in agreement. “More than anything. It’s dangerous what we do, obviously, but there is nowhere I’d rather be. You - the Avengers, I mean; not just you - are my family and I can’t imagine loving a group of people more.”

The kitchen was silent while he tidied up. You picked at your broken biscuits, mesmerised by the way Loki moved. There was no music playing - you had long since turned it off, knowing how Loki detested your your taste in bands - but it was as if he was moving to a beat deep inside his soul. Ever move was as graceful as a dancer from the way he stretched out his arms to pick something up to the way he washed and dried the bowls. You could almost hear the music to which he was moving, something old and sweet and utterly beautiful just like him.

“It’s rude to stare.” Loki looked over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked as he pointed out, “You would have been executed on Asgard for the impertinence of eyeing a prince that way.”

He hung the damp teatowel over the oven handle to dry and then rounded the table towards where you sat. Placing a kiss on the top of your head, he said, “I am merely teasing you, dear. The courts of Asgard were full of the worst kinds of debauchery. Staring after someone across the room would have barely registered when the couple at your side were in the throws of passion.”

“Loki!” you exclaimed, smacking his arm. You were feeling more than a little warm under the collar at the images that were running through your brain; no doubt put there by the god, who had quite the talent of conjuring incredibly realistic false memories (although you were quite sure that these were his own, legitimate memories, which seemed to make it all the worse).

Smirking as you pushed him away, breaking the mental connection between you, Loki said, “Forgive me. It is amusing to make you blush this way. I shall leave you be.”

Hardly missing a beat, you said, “You can stay. If you want, I mean. To help me fix the house?”

Loki’s eyes lit up at the invitation, the only sign in his otherwise nonchalant exterior that he was remotely interested. He sat down on the stool beside you, his feet firmly on the ground and knees bent so high that they graced the underside of the island. Arms folded in front of him, Loki’s attempts to hide his enthusiasm were in vain; you saw right through him. “I suppose this could be an amusing way to waste a few hours. I must warn you, though: it has been millennia since I did anything remotely like this.”

As it turned out, Loki was amazing at piping and decorating. You already knew from watching him in battle that he had the steadiest hands you’d ever seen but this was something else entirely. His skill with the piping bag rivalled that of a world class baker.

“You’re very good at this, you know. Some secret history that I don’t know about?”

“In my youth, I had quite the crush on one of the palace bakers,” Loki admitted. He remained focused on repairing the joins in the roof but his gaze softened to one of extreme fondness. “I sent hours in the kitchen, learning new skills to try and impress him. Sadly my father learned of my affections and I never saw him again.”

Voicing a thought that you had had many times before, you said, “You father sounds like a dick.”

“That I can hardly deny but it was for the best, I suppose. If I had run away with Ballindir then I would never have ended up here with you. With the Avengers, I mean.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too.” Finishing up the final biscuit, you set it back into its rightful place and smiled at the final result. You could hardly tell that it had been broken anymore, not with Loki’s gorgeous piping work covering all the cracks and smudges. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

Loki’s gaze bore into you and when you turned to face him he caught your face, pulling you in to a kiss. It wasn’t full of searing passion or rough and desperate; instead, it was soft and gentle, barely there yet still overflowing with emotion. It wasn’t what you’d imagined kissing Loki would be like. No, it was so much better.

He pulled away, the sweet taste of mint flavoured icing lingering on both of your lips. Loki traced his fingers along your jawline, committing the lines of your face to memory so that he may never forget this moment. Resting his forehead against yours, Loki whispered, “Any time, my dear.”


End file.
